Not Oskar Schindler
by Aisalynn
Summary: Oskar Schindler as viewed by Amon Goeth. "The war was good for Schindler. He smiled and charmed his way everything, getting everything he wanted. Anyone he wanted."


**Disclaimer: I am not claiming anything. I am in fact, DISclaiming. Duh.**

**A/N: When I wrote this I acually planned for there to be another part from Schindler's accountant's point of view. I don't know if I'll acually do that now, but if I do it will show up as another chapter. **

"Thank you, my friends," Oskar Schindler raised his glass high and smiled his most charming smile, "for keeping such an old and boring man like myself company on these long, long winter nights." The last words were lower in pitch, and Schindler turned his head to gaze directly into the eyes of the petite blonde who hung on his shoulder. Her pale cheeks flushed an attractive shade of red, but her lips turned up in a coy smile and she did not look away.

Amon Goeth wanted to be him.

"Nonsense, Schindler," the officer beside him blustered. His face too, was flushed--from the wine-- and unlike the girl, it was not an attractive look for him. "You are neither old nor boring. And it is _you_ who keeps _us_ company on these winter nights. Where else would we get to drink such fine wine?"

As if to emphasize this the blonde reached up and took the glass from Schindler's hand and brought it to her lips. Goeth watched the light pass through the glass, staining dainty fingertips and a graceful wrist a dark red, redder even than the full lips that parted and stretched over the rim. He watched because Schindler was supposed to watch.

"It _is_ good wine," said the man sitting to the right of Schindler. Unlike most of the men in the room, he was not drunk. His officer's uniform was straight and pressed, hair perfectly combed and slicked back, shrewd eyes focused on Schindler over the rim of the single glass of wine he had been nursing all night. He turned the glass slowly in his hands, eyes never straying from the business man. "Wine of such quality should be impossible to get during the war. I wonder how you managed to get your hands on it."

Goeth's eyes flickered from Schindler to the man and back again. The man had never been to one of Schindler's little parties before, and Goeth could sense danger. He just wondered if Schindler could sense it as well.

But Schindler just smiled. "Surely you must leave an old business man with some secrets. Lets just say that I have a few… contacts."

The man carefully placed the wine down on the table. "I'm sure you do." His tone and facial expression said he was not impressed.

Schindler's smile didn't falter. "Come," he clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. "It appears you are not fond of the wine. Let me see if I can find something else my contacts have dragged up that would peak your interest. Cigars, perhaps?"

Goeth took a gulp of the wine as Schindler led the man to a table in the corner of the room. He opened the lid of a small wooden box and leaned in close, speaking in undertones. His smile never left his face.

Nothing ever phased Schindler. If there was trouble with keeping the workforce in his factory, he pulled some strings, paid a few visits, held a few dinners and then--no more trouble. If someone high up in the Party grew suspicious, developed questions of why Schindler would go so far to keep a group of insignificant Jews polishing metal in his factory, Schindler would put on the charm, smile and say a few choice words and there would be no more questions.

Not that anyone should question him. Goeth had never seen a man so less effected by the Jews. He would walk through work camp with his usual confident stride as if the Jews weren't even there. His eyes would never wander to the women digging in the dirt, or the men lined up in front of the guns. He did not even stop to sneer at the sniveling old men and women who practically fell at his feet when they saw him, begging to be put to work in his factory. He was the model of everything they were taught: Jews were tools to him, and if they weren't useful, didn't serve a purpose, then they didn't exist. Even when they started to burn the bodies his only words on the subject had been a mild complaint about the ashes dirtying his car.

Goeth emptied his glass and then refilled it as his mind--so frustratingly undisciplined--trailed away to the cellar of his house, to dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin. He wished he could be like that, like Schindler. So cold and uncaring, so…unaffected.

Of course, there were times when Schindler's actions contradicted that. The water for the train cars, for example. But Goeth knew him, knew his mind. Everything he did was deliberate, whether it seemed casual or even ridiculous, it was all done with the cold deliberation of a business man, and somehow, Goeth knew that Schindler always benefited from these things. How, he didn't know, couldn't guess, but Goeth knew that Schindler would never doing anything that didn't help himself in some way.

That's why the war was so good for Schindler. He smiled and charmed his way through everything, getting everything wanted. _Anyone he wanted_, Goeth thought as he watched Schindler wrap his arm around the blonde again. The man he had been talking to was sitting again at the table, wine glass in one hand, cigar in the other, satisfied look on his face. Schindler got everything, and used any means necessary.

He was proof that war could bring out the best in people.

The wine was affecting him now, and Goeth got to his feet, staggering slightly as he made his way to Schindler and the blonde. Both of Schindler's arms were around her waist now, and she was on her tiptoes, head tilted towards his.

"Careful, miss!" He clumsily threw his arms around both of them, jarring them apart and placing his own face between theirs. He turned to the blonde. "He was arrested last week, you know. And do you know why?"

"Amon," came the exasperated voice of his friend. Goeth grinned at him before he continued.

"Because he kissed a _Jew._ Can you imagine that? Our friend Oskar sullying his lips with that of vermin." He pulled away and stood up straight. "You better be careful or you might be contaminated."

He watched for the expression of distaste that never came. Instead the blonde smiled at Schindler and in a husky voice murmured, "I don't believe any Jew can kiss as well I can. Besides, we cannot allow our friend to remain so sullied. I shall just have to wipe her from his lips," and leaned in to press her lips against his.

Goeth wondered if she would still smile if it had been his lips offered. If she would still willingly lean forward if she had known that his thoughts were often on dark hair, not blonde, and skin pale from lack of light or flushed from hard labor, not the cosmetics that painted her skin. He wondered if she would still show no distaste if she knew how often he had to stop his lips from seeking just such contamination--but no. Her pretty face would twist in disgust and turn away.

He was not Oskar Schindler.


End file.
